


Baby, I am cold.

by TinyGuest23



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 07:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15903426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyGuest23/pseuds/TinyGuest23
Summary: "It makes me worry that something is wrong and I want to ask her what it is, but communication has not been one of our strengths lately."- Sparia (AU) One Shot - inspired by a story called "The Fire" (Author: Gwendilyn on ff.net)





	Baby, I am cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a one shot I read years ago for another couple from another show. It's called The Fire by Gwendilyn. And it is based on the plot behind it. It is still one of my favorites to this day! Check it out!
> 
> I don't own Pll, the characters, the story's idea, nor the basic plot.

"Baby, I am cold".

The clock turns seven o'clock and I can't help but roll my eyes as I watch her start a fire in the living room. She walks over to grab more wood to throw into the fireplace and I can't help but grimace at the sound of it. I watch her smile then, and for a second I find myself lost in her curved lips, but it soon turns into another grimace as I observe the first stains on the carpet.

For a moment I just watch her from my position on the couch as she looks into space and I can see her bitting her lip, a sign that she is concentrating. I want to ask her what she is thinking, but I don't. She turns around, and her hand reaches up to grab the matches on the coffee table, our hands almost touching. As I look into her eyes, I am silently pleading with her to say something, but she doesn't say a word. Instead, she lights up one of the matches and throws it into the pile of wood, as sparks begin to crack and the room begins to lighten up. 

She sits on the carpet in front of it and it makes me want to get up and put on the heating. She hates when I do that. She thinks it doesn't make sense to have a fireplace just for show, so she insists to use it to warm up the house more often than the heater. I could never agree. I still feel cold, as we both stare into the flames. She thinks it's romantic, that it's old and valuable and tradition. I think there is nothing wrong with turning on the heater as a back up to feel warm. 

It is then that she stands up from her sitting position and I can see dark features on her face, making me worry that something is wrong. I want to ask her what it is, but I am too scared of an answer. 

Is it him again? Is it the young pretty girl that has troubled her recently, too? Is it me? 

She used to sit in our small bedroom and stare at our first picture we took together. It was one of the first nights the five of us had a sleepover. We were kids then. We didn't know about the life ahead of us. She used to search for old photos of us, used to reread secret letters we wrote to each other in class and later in college, used to scroll through old text messages. I am sure she was getting sick of the sight of me. She used to hold those pictures close, and cry over my face, happy and beaming with our heads leaned together and our smiles so bright.

I think I hated these nights the most. I tried not to watch. I tried to do other things and ignore her, ignore the ache in my heart. I read another book or practiced another language, but it didn't work – somehow her face popped into my mind again and it was all I could see. 

I remember the night I knew we were over, even though none of us dared to say it out loud. She came home from work, sitting on the bed, a photo of me clutched in her hand and all I could do was watch silently from the doorframe. 

It was a photo of my younger self. I must have been around ten when it was taken. It wasn't anything special. All I did was smile into the camera with a wide grin. You could see the beach in the background and my messy hair flying through the wind, my eyes wide and my teeth showing. I never understood why she liked that photo so much. There were so many photos so much better than this. Still, I think it was her favorite. Maybe it was because she took it. She was clutching it tightly asking in a silent whisper if our daughter would have looked like the girl in the picture, if I ever had one. 

My heart broke and I couldn't help but wonder and imagine them. Our kids. It was all I could think of that night. I imagined them growing up, us as a family, but at the same time, while I lied motionless next to her and watched her sleep, I knew that this wasn't our future to have. 

The next night it was over. It was then, that the darkness vanished my dreams of a future, my dreams of children and a happily ever after. It was a blackness too dark and too scary to bear, and I couldn't do anything about it. I felt lost. I felt betrayed.

It was the night she had betrayed me with him. 

Hanna and Caleb had finally decided to tie the knot and had invited everyone to celebrate after the ceremony. And because he had become such a good friend to Caleb and the rest of them over the years, he had been invited too. There was dancing, and there was alcohol, and it didn't take long for both of them to get extremely drunk and for me to get extremely annoyed. I saw him ask her for a dance then, and I wondered when it stopped to matter what I thought about the two of them dancing together. I hated to watch them so close, couldn't help but feel jealous. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't look away as I observed the two from afar. 

I could hear Hanna whisper beside me to Caleb, and I wondered if she knew I could hear her, too. 

Maybe she is ready to move on. 

I wanted to slap her hard, scream at her for saying that, but it was her wedding day so I held my mouth shut. I watched as they danced, and I couldn't help but feel my heart sank when I saw her lay her head to his chest, as they swayed along the music. 

The music soon stopped and I watched as he claimed her hand to lead him into the hallway. I followed. It was then that I couldn't breathe. I wished I could look away, as I saw him lean down towards and connect their lips in a kiss that must have taste of alcohol and nothing else. I couldn't help but feel betrayed as I saw her kiss back, and I liked to think it was because she was depressed and hurt over me. 

“I am sorry Ezra, I can't.”

She stopped him then, and as she looked beside him, I wondered if she stopped because she saw me in a reflection of light, or because she felt it was wrong. I don't really know, but she made him go away and even though I should have felt happy about it, I couldn't help but feel guilty, too. 

When she walked up the stairs of the building, entering the small apartment, and stepped into the bedroom, I already had a speech prepared to give her in my most angry tone for what she had just done with her ex-boyfriend, but then she clutched our photo again, tears threatening to spill and I shut my mouth.

The next day, she woke up early and I watched her pile the mass of photos into her arms out into the garbage. I screamed at her for destroying the last piece of me in her life, but she didn't listen and looked right past me as she walked back into the house. 

We were officially over. 

She sits down on the couch next to me, and our tights are almost brushing against one another, but she still keeps a distance. We used to be so close. We used to share every secret. We used to be in love. 

She was perfect for me. 

She had the right height, she had the most amazing smile and she had understood me the most. 

She was the perfect lover. And she still is. The perfect wife.

Only now to someone else.

I hear voices and I see how the young girl I thought might have been on her mind earlier enter the room, a vibrant smile on her face and she beams as she sees her. I watch her smile lovingly at her. She is my biggest competition. I think she loves her more than she ever loved me.

“Mommy, can we please turn on the heating? It is cold.”, pouts the small girl, barely four feet tall, her small feet covered in pink socks and her brown eyes shining.

I watch her laugh and she tries to explain the magic of a fireplace as she would to me. 

For just a moment, I pretend it's me she is talking to, as I look into her eyes.

“Honey, I lit up the fireplace. It's not just for show you know, it actually warms up the place. And it's so much nicer than the warmth coming from a simple heater. I promise.”

Baby, I am cold. It's freezing. Let's just turn up the heating okay?

The little girl says something and looks confused, but I block her out, pretending not to hear her as she speaks. This is my moment. Please little girl, I beg you. Let me have this moment with her.

“It will heat up soon, pinky promise. Any minute now and you will feel warm.”

What if it's still cold then?

“Then we will cuddle under a blanket and talk and drink hot chocolate, okay?”

Oh. I like that idea. Can we make popcorn, too? I will even let you watch one of those black and white movies you like so much. I miss spending time with you.

“Why don't you ask Daddy, if he wants to join us?"

No! There is no Daddy, Aria! Ezra is not living here with you. I am. I am with you. She is ruining it. She is ruining our moment. I just want this one moment with her, and it's too much to have.

Please, Aria. I am here. Look at me. Please. This is our moment. 

The little girl sprints up the stairs, and I try to ignore that she is getting him to join them. I watch as she closes her eyes for a brief moment and I can't help but step closer to her, and put my arms around her waist as I look at her beautiful face, begging for her to open her eyes. 

“I love you, Spencer.”, she whispers softly and my heart leaps in joy.

I dare forward, and kiss her on the lips. I linger for a moment, and I try to savior the moment. Try to remember and treasure it in my heart for eternity. It doesn't matter that I can't feel our kiss. It doesn't matter that she can't, that she doesn't even know I am right here, kissing her. And it doesn't matter that I am dead and she is alive. It is still the best kiss we've ever had.

The young girl comes sprinting back, saying she loves her, too, but I try not to listen, try to pretend. Just for one more second. 

I love you, too, Aria.

The girl runs away again in her search for Ezra, and once again she is here with me – alone – and I've never been more happy, or grateful that she named her daughter after me.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this, even though it is kind of tragic. Tell me what you think!


End file.
